


Blood Red

by neko_kirin3104



Series: Blood Red [1]
Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Death, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Minor Character Death, One Shot, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neko_kirin3104/pseuds/neko_kirin3104
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief look into the minds of the hunter and the hunted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Red

  
“He then shut the door and got into the grandmother's bed, expecting Little Red Riding Hood, who came some time afterwards and knocked at the door: tap, tap."

**—Little Red Riding Hood** by _Charles Perrault_

∞•∞•∞•∞•∞

 

 

His victims change each time and each time he gets fiercer.

 

At first there is no real pattern to his cruel madness.

The moment I saw the young boy he had mutilated beyond recognition, I realized this man would kill anyone.

_Anyone._

Without mercy and apparently without regret.

 

I remember throwing up at that crime scene.

It was a rather challenging day, my first day out on the field.

Trying to keep in-character really took its toll on me.

I was a newbie, you see, fresh out of training.

And newbies were supposed to be clumsy and wimpy.

They weren’t expected to step up and do anything at all.

They were dragged along for the sake of entertainment.

 

And I did give my best at that performance.

Throwing up all over the place.

Twisting my tongue into knots stuttering.

Then crumpling to the ground unconscious for the full effect.

 

But I had seen everything.

Apparently more so than anyone else.

I saw his handiwork in all its crimson glory.

Every detail of it, every mark on every scattered piece of flesh.

 

His signature did not escape me either.

A seemingly random swirl, written out in blood, right beside the decapitated head—

 

Wolf.

The name that got attached to him since.

A name, a character that stirred something within me.

Something that I regretted ignoring to this day.

 

The second time was much worse.

Much harder to get immuned to without outing myself.

But as I doubled over retching and whimpering on the ground, I secretly gobbled up the sight of his latest masterpiece.

It was a woman, intact but for a gutted belly, and she was not alone.

On the empty space where her bowels should’ve been lay the dismembered remains of a fetus, just a few weeks shy of being born.

 

Beside her, the usual signature.

A perfect calligraphy in crimson.

 

Again, the usual stirring in my gut.

And again, the forced ignorance...

 

Until the truth struck close, much too close to home.

 

My grandmother was a beautiful woman.

Even in old age, she just _glowed_.

She had always looked good in red.

It was ironic how the blood pooling around her body did not really give her justice.

 

I held myself well that day.

I did not cry, I did not retch.

I kept my then fairly professional facade intact.

She was my beloved grandmother, my family.

But I could not be associated with her.

Not then, not ever.

 

Because the moment I saw the killer’s signature, red, proud and mocking beside my grandmother’s lifeless scream, I knew.

Beyond any doubt.

I knew.

And I could not afford to reveal myself to _him_.

 

There had always been a pattern all along.

It had always been there, staring me in the face.

And I kept ignoring it because I was stupid.

Because I had always wanted to be different.

Because all I ever wanted was to have a normal life.

 

Wolf—

He wasn’t referring to himself after all.

It had always been a message, a warning.

An arrogant declaration that he knew.

 

He _knows_ that we exist.

 

And I _know_ who he is.

I’ve always known.

He came to me himself as I was leaving my grandmother’s house, telling me out of nowhere how he could see right through me.

 

“You’re cold, Officer. Perhaps even colder than the killer you seek.”

 

He angered me.

He laughed at me.

He retracted and teased.

And offered me coffee.

 

It had been a year since.

It only took me a month of knowing him to find out who he was.

What he does whenever he calls late at night to tell me he can’t come over, or that I can’t come to his place for the next few days.

 

I know the way he works, the way he moves, the way he kills.

But I am never going to give him up to my colleagues.

Because he is mine, and mine alone to nurture and _kill_.

 

Whatever feelings we may have shared each time we see each other,

whatever sap may have been uttered in our moments of mindless passion,

may always bring the man that I pretend to be down to his knees,

but will never mean anything to who I really am inside.

 

Because the moment he preyed on my family, he made this personal.

 

He _is_ my first assignment as human.

As wolf, he will hardly be my last.

 

###

 

He barges into my living room, wearing the smile that has never failed to make my heart soar each time he comes to spend a full weekend at my place.

 

He has always had that calming effect on me, I don’t even understand it.

 

These past months have felt strange, really strange to me. I have never let myself be this close to anyone ever since that night I came home to find my mother dead and dismembered in our backyard.

 

I could never forget the sight of the unnatural animal bent over her, blood and innards dripping from its canine muzzle, body covered in disheveled fur. Its hands were armed with sharp claws that held my mother’s intestines like store-bought meat. Its ears were big and pointed and looked misplaced on the side of its head.

 

The look of surprise and fear in its big, yellow eyes did not quite belong with the rest of it, but they looked real. The creature itself whimpered first, looking confused as to what to do, where to go next, whether or not to eat me, too.

 

In the end, it decided to leave, to _run_.

 

I would’ve felt sorry for it, if my mother hadn’t been lying on the ground, _dead_.

 

I would’ve allowed my heart, numbed by dread and disbelief, to feel a little mercy, except that _that_ creature had taken my family, the only one I had left, away from me.

 

To say that I got obsessed with it afterwards wouldn’t be too far from the truth. I found out soon enough what I saw that night, how such creatures work and what made them tick. Everything about them, about their kind that lived among us, interacting with us every day like any normal person would. _Always_ scouting the streets for their next big feast.

 

I have never stopped thinking about them for even just a second. Hunting them has given me a purpose that has kept me alive on my feet for years. Making me stronger, wiser, greedier, more creative and heartless with each progressive kill.

 

I can smell them from miles away now. See through their sloppy disguises, their desperate attempts to fit in and live a normal life.

 

Man, woman, young, old, innocent and guilty. It matters little to me.

 

I get rid of them. I _will_ get rid of them.

 

“What are you thinking about now? You’re dazing off again. Am I that bad of a kisser?”

 

The sight of _his_ pout crashes through the visions of my next kill. Sometimes I am just awed by how much of a child he can be. I hold his cheeks in my hand and stare into his eyes, wondering if they would still look this expressive, this beautiful, in his true form.

 

Because I have always really known what he is, and what he wants to do.

 

He may fascinate me with his acts of clumsiness, thrill my heart with his outbursts of extreme delight, keep me satisfied with all the wonderful things he can do with his mouth when he’s not talking too much, but these doesn’t change the fact that he is still one of _them_.

 

The worst of his kind, because my anger for him runs _deeper_ than a random kill—

 

“You’re fairly okay,” I assure him with a grin, chuckling at his boyish frown. “But we’ll have all of this weekend to make it better, won’t we?”

 

He huffs and shakes his head free from my hands.

 

It only takes a none-too gentle tug on his nape and my prying tongue inside his mouth to turn him into the whimpering mess of a man who will soon enough fall under my mercy, like he does every single time.

 

But I will not kill him tonight.

 

I’ll keep at this game for as long as he wants to.

 

Because come to think of it, I’ve never had this much fun in years...

 

#

**Author's Note:**

> written for [je-prompts](http://je-prompts.livejournal.com) for the prompt _Ink_


End file.
